


The Jschlatt's handbook

by limin



Series: Now you are king; You only have to reign [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, But also with Feels, Capitalistic borderlining on Dictatorial Bastard accidentally Catches Feelings, DadSchlatt, Dystopia, Elaborate Worldbuilding, Fluff, Found Family, Game Mechanics Realism, Gen, Honestly Very Heavy with Politics, Hurt/Comfort, Hybrids, Jschlatt-centric, Morally Ambiguous Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Respawn Mechanics, We're painting with the full grey scale here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limin/pseuds/limin
Summary: Schlatt is a smart man. So when he stands on the podium, accepting his victory, he doesn’t declare himself the emperor nor does he revoke the citizenship of Wilbur and Tommy… at least, not yet.Coming to power and staying in power are very different things.-Or: a retelling of the election where Schlatt’s politically smart, Wilbur’s plotting in the shadows, the kids aren’t alright and everyone’s fucked, one way or another.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Clay | Dream & Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & Jschlatt, Floris | Fundy & Jschlatt, GeorgeNotFound & Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Now you are king; You only have to reign [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039422
Comments: 77
Kudos: 410





	1. Mortality

**Author's Note:**

> I love canon Schlatt but also I won't accept a man committing political suicide and ruining his career 3 seconds after he got elected (even though it was an amazing first speech), so I wrote this... and then it got out of hand
> 
> ...I read an over 300 pages book for this.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy :D

Most unavoidably, and therefore the first, on the list of risks of being deposed is the simple, inescapable fact of mortality.

* * *

Schlatt Corporation, March 17th, 2020 

The atmosphere is busy, as it always has been and always will be.

The sound of footsteps running around, of the rhythmic clicking from the radio stations downstairs where Morse codes are steadily being passed back and forth, redstone ticks being read and manipulated by the operators, of quills scratching against the papers echoes through the main building, never stopping.

The sound of productivity never stops, not here.

Schlatt Corp, specialised and leading in respawn technology, prides itself in its productivity.

Its founder and CEO of the same name, J. Schlatt prides himself in the steady flow of cash (mostly into his and some of the board members’ pockets) and business, and lately he’s even ecstatic at the recent statistics.

Numbers have been through the roof since the Dream SMP bought the license and set up his respawn system in the capital, and with the recent rise in mortality rates (due to some war that Schlatt is only half-heartedly giving a fuck about), the company is thriving to say the least. Nether below, Dream SMP has easily gone from maybe the fifth most profitable customer of theirs to the first, leading by a large margin.

Business is good, if he does say so himself. And he does.

“Mr. Schlatt, you have mail. Shall it be delivered to your office?”

Schlatt blinks, looking up from the stack of paperwork he’s slowly slaving through to the communicator. The voice of his secretary is crackled through the transmission, enough to knock him out of his working haze and he sighs.

The red quill’s put down in favour of him reaching out and pushing the needed button to reply. “Is it urgent?”

“It’s from Dream, sir.”

Oh. He raises an eyebrow, the contract he was drafting now fully forgotten. “Pass it up then.”

There’s a few seconds of silence before the reply comes in, a simple affirmative before the connection cuts out.

Schlatt nods to himself, the slight movement making him more aware of the crick in his neck. How long has he just been sitting here, reviewing contracts and managing the budget?

Well, who gives a shit. He’s overdue for a fucking break anyway.

There’s a satisfying crack when he moves his head around, and another from his shoulders as he stretches in the seat. He brings a hand through his hair, brushing it away from his eyes, being mindful of the large horns.

Schlatt stifles a yawn.

Right, coffee. Yeah, he needs some fucking coffee, especially when it comes to Dream related business. The fucker really could not let him catch a break, huh?

There’s a small ding when the letter arrives through the tube, one that Schlatt casually ignores for now in favour of pouring some premade shit in his cup. It has been cold for, he looks at the clock, at least 5 hours now and the drink would certainly taste bitter if not for the obscene amount of artificial sweeteners and milk that he dumps in the thing as a cheap substitute for some form of energy.

The cup is half-empty after the first gulp, and Schlatt lets out another soft sigh. The click-clacking sound of hooves against the hard wooden floor rings out as he walks back, placing the cup on the table next to the hydro-pneunomatic system which sounds infinitely better than fucking bubble elevator.

He should give the guy who names these a raise or something. But also maybe not, that raise money is money that can go into his pocket, thank you very much. 

Whatever, he’s getting off track.

The canister containing what must be Dream’s letter is floating there, the system still pushing it up and Schlatt snags the container, opening it and pulling out the actual envelope.

It is from Dream alright, the unique wax seal of his kingdom greeting Schlatt. Not unique enough to warrant him to be all careful and shit opening the thing and retaining the seal of course, but it is a good aesthetic. He can respect that.

The seal is easily broken in half and the envelope opens up. He throws that into the trashcan before making his way back to the chair that creaks ever so slightly when Schlatt sits down and leans back on it.

Dream’s handwriting is horrible, is the first thing Schlatt notes when he reads through the actual contents.

Dream usually has a very pristine handwriting. Not the best he has ever seen of course, but there’s a certain devil-may-care attitude to the words that is the perfect reflection of the actual man himself.

The handwriting that’s staring at him is anything but Dream. It screams tryhard, a stranger trying their best to replicate the flow and failing horribly. Nether below, there’s an ink blot at the end of the page. A fucking ink blot, that’s sad as fuck.

But it is very much Dream in the wording, that and the seal, so Schlatt doesn’t crumble the paper into a ball and 3-pointer it into the trash can with the envelope, at least not yet. He scans through the content, blinks again, reads through it again and reads through it a third time before a laugh tears its way from his mouth.

Schlatt cackles. And 10 minutes later Schlatt is making the needed arrangements and packing up to visit the basically dictator of the Dream SMP.

* * *

Undisclosed Winter Cabin, March 20th, 2020

The wind breezes past Schlatt, making a proper mess of his usually combed back hair. It’s also snowing, dying his brown hair and dark grey horns a dirty white. He hates snow.

Fuck the designer for not taking into account the horns, or Nether below, any other hybrid’s modifications when they were making the jacket he’s wearing. The hood is billowing with the wind instead of, you know, being pulled over his head as it should be. 

And not just the clothing industry, but honestly literally everything else. Fuck all of that, Schlatt thinks, sledding down a small hill and toward a wood cabin up ahead, the smoke from what must be the chimney marking the spot.

Also fuck Dream for having his cabin in Notch knows where. Horrible, absolutely horrible, you hate to fucking see it.

He stops a bit away from the wooden door, stepping off of the sleigh and starting on the whole unhooking thing. It doesn’t take that long before the huskies are running around, barking and some even rushing up to him, asking for more pets that he freely grants for a while before stepping away.

Petting dogs is not the main reason he’s here. Unfortunately.

The door opens before Schlatt even gets the chance to knock, and he plasters on a smile at the sight of Dream in his usual get up: the weird mask, armor for whatever reason that has been put on over his favoured green hoodie, and zero signs of having been poisoned.

Honestly, Dream doesn’t look as shitty and horrible as Schlatt was expecting when he read the letter. He looks the same as the last time they met, a few days before the results of Dream’s most recent autocratic rigged election came out. Maybe a year ago then?

“Hey,” he greets simply, and Dream nods back. “Are you gonna let me in?”

Dream nods again, stepping aside and gesturing with his hand as an invitation.

And at that point Schlatt notices the tremor, and there is the proof that the ever unflappable Dream is dealing with some horrible shit. It also explains the shitty fuck handwriting, he thinks, striding in.

It’s warm inside, thank Notch. He takes off the jacket, hanging it up and letting out a content hum when the weight is off his shoulders. “You could have just met me in like, your big mansion or something instead of a cabin in the middle of nowhere, you know?”

Dream doesn’t answer. He merely closes the door behind him and stands there, staring at Schlatt even though his eyes aren’t visible through the mask so it’s not like he can actually tell. It’s the general vibe, Schlatt decides.

He’s not deterred in his steps though, continuing to the kitchen where he knows the liquors are. Footsteps follow him, not as light as usual. 

The mere fact that he can tell Dream is following him is not usual, not normal.

Yeah, guy’s in deep shit alright.

“So?” Schlatt prompts, opening the cabinet and pulling out a half-empty bottle of whisky. “Lay out all the details, come on. Or do you wanna get wasted and high first? Fuck, can you even drink dude?”

The answer comes in the form of two shot glasses being slid over. He grins, opening the bottle and filling the glasses.

“Thank you,” Dream mutters. And oh fuck his voice is hoarse, like he is having a terrible cold. Either that or Dream was sucking hard last night, and look, if it got a little rough then he’s definitely not one to judge.

“Hey. Hey hey, no prob, alright?” Schlatt says, clinking their glasses together before downing the shot. The whisky burns as it travels down, and he lets out an appreciative groan. “Fuck, that’s some good kush.”

“It is,” Dream agrees after a beat. Schlatt watches as his hand moves up to his mask, pausing for a split second before resuming the motion, inching it up so that his mouth is visible. He doesn’t drink as fast, taking a measured sip before lowering the glass. “What do you know about the war?”

Schlatt hums, leaning against the counter, standing opposite to Dream. “This and that. What are they calling themselves these days?”

“L’Manberg.”

“A fucking horrible name, if you’re asking me.”

“I’m not. But it is a horrible name,” Dream says with a small chuckle.

“And you got poisoned by a bunch of revolutionaries who called the land L’Manberg.”

The mood changes like a switch has just been flipped. Dream’s mouth is drawn in a tight line as he nods. “Yes,” he says slowly. 

“And what’s the problem with that?” Schlatt pushes on. “Respawning is still working, right?”

“Your system is working fine. Respawning itself, on the other hand...” Dream trails off. He finishes his shot, and the force with which he slams the glass back onto the counter makes Schlatt jump. “You’re a hybrid.”

Schlatt frowns at the sudden, or maybe not so sudden change of topic, but it is Dream so he plays along. “Obviously. Just fucking take a look at this.”

“And you know how hybrids are created.”

“Uh, yeah. Kinda need to, you know, considering my line of work.”

Dream opens his mouth, before closing it again in what Schlatt’s afraid to call hesitation simply because the man doesn’t hesitate at all, has never once hesitated in his actions and words. Hesitant is an insult to call him, honestly.

So yes, Schlatt’s afraid to call it hesitation, and he’s also afraid to connect the obvious dots that have just been laid out. Dream doesn’t hesitate, and Dream isn’t stupid by any means. What he’s implying, that should not be passed around, especially not to Schlatt of all people.

The air is tense, and he reaches for the bottle, refilling his glass but doesn’t quite down it yet.

Outside the wind blows and the dogs bark.

Dream sighs. “Do you mind giving me a piece of advice or two?”

“Depends,” Schlatt answers carefully. “What’s popping, big guy? W-What’s bothering ya?”

“I doubt you need to ask, Schlatt.”

His name from Dream’s mouth, in Dream’s hoarse voice somehow makes Schlatt shudder. “I don’t know enough about the state of warfare right now to give you any good suggestions,” he measuredly replies. “But, if you’re asking me-”

“I am.”

“You are, yeah. I know, I’m getting there.” He quickly downs the shot, the liquid courage helping somewhat. “Look, I know you’re gonna fucking hate it, but perhaps, just maybe, a peace treaty would not be so bad.”

At this moment, Dream looks taller than he actually is. Somehow the lighting makes his shadow cover Schlatt like a layer of obsidian, cold and sharp yet somehow protective. He should probably invest in the stuff more now that he’s thinking about it. He has heard it’s being used a lot in Nether expeditions these days to protect equipment and prosthetics and whatnot.

No, focus. He’s still stuck in this small cabin with Dream, now is no time to think about future endeavors when he isn’t even sure that there’s a future for him.

“A peace treaty?” Dream echoes his words softly. His head cocks to the left, in consideration. Now, if that’s considering his advice or considering if he should kill him right here and now, Schlatt doesn’t know.

“Yes,” he continues nonetheless. “A peaceful way to end the war, and it at least gives you some ground to negotiate. And it also gives you time to regroup and, well,” he coughs, “Time to get more acquainted with your newly acquired physical traits.”

Dream’s silent.

The dogs are barking louder, or at least Schlatt thinks so. Or perhaps it’s just too quiet in here so that everything feels louder, from the noises outside to his own heart beating in his chest.

Schlatt has never been good with silence that he can’t control. Notch damn it all to the fucking Nether, he thinks, almost wanting to run his mouth but knowing better than to actually do so.

“They want a democracy. I’ve heard words of an election for presidency,” Dream hisses. “They pass the idea around like they have already won, like I have already been taken down. And you know what?”

His voice raises, both in pitch and volume. Schlatt subconsciously takes a step back, or at least tries to before realising he’s backed against the counter here, and Dream is blocking the way out of the kitchen.

Fuck.

Dream is approaching him now, slow steps akin to the way a predator would sneak up to its prey. His instincts are screaming at him to run, to ram Dream if worst comes to worst.

He holds back.

“You know what, Schlatt?”

“W-What?” Schlatt chuckles. “What do I know, Dream?”

A hand is grabbing at his horn, missing the first few times before he manages to get a tight grip on it, and Dream leans down closer to his ear. “As far as I know right now, they’re right. I’m useless like this, Schlatt.”

He doesn’t have anything to say back, for once in his life. Schlatt prides himself on his words, but right now he’s speechless, and that adds another layer of discomfort and fear to the situation.

Schlatt hears a sigh, too close for comfort, before Dream says, “I have a favour to ask.”

“Yes?”

“Help me draft up the peace treaty. And then,” Dream moves back, not getting outside of his comfort zone but at least now they’re seeing eye to eye. 

Too many eyes to Schlatt’s own two eyes.

When did he take off the mask?

“And then?” Schlatt repeats.

“Run for president, for me,” Dream finishes.

Oh, if what had happened before was an uncomfortable silence, then this is a hundred times worse. So much fucking worse. 

Schlatt wonders if this is what drowning feels like, if this suffocating silence equates to the waves dragging him down. If this comes even close, then Notch, he does not want to go out drowning.

Forming words is nigh impossible, but he draws a breath and asks, “What did he poison you with?”

“Cave spider’s venom.”


	2. Policy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for the people who click on this fic for the Politics tag and the people who click on this fic for the Politics tag only.
> 
> (Actually it's also for the people who are here for Jschlatt and Fundy.)

Autocratic politics is a battle for private rewards. Democratic politics is a battle for good policy ideas.

* * *

The Currently-Being-Negotiated-Over L’Manberg, April 3rd, 2020 

The forest surrounding L’Manberg is nothing but bare trees right now, the snow catching on the branches. The warmth should be coming soon, melting away the thick layer of the white stuff (not the good kind) on the ground, but right now Schlatt’s standing ankle deep in the cold thing.

Far away, he can see a group of people, some he knows more personally than others.

There’s the obvious figure of Dream, clad in green. Beside him stands the pyromaniac, Sapnap, Schlatt thinks his name is, and the rather mysterious George, whose data he could not find in any of his current databases. He must be someone close to Dream if the dictator isn’t keeping any files on him.

Opposite to them stands a small group of the revolutionary, all dressed in uniformed blue with a splash of red that is, unfortunately, not blood. He has seen the L’Manberg uniform before, never in person though. And Schlatt has to admit, the pictures he has do a disservice to how bright the actual hues are.

Together, the group of them are like a beacon in the midst of the monochromatic landscape.

Schlatt frowns. The negotiations have been going on for too long, and even when he’s standing far away, the tense atmosphere still manages to reach him. Nether fucking below, why does he even have to be here?

“In case something goes wrong,” Dream had said, as if he, Sapnap and George couldn’t deal with said something themselves. A bunch of BS, Schlatt thinks, kicking some snow away. The area around him is nicely messed up with the constant pawing, though even those holes and lumps are being evened out by more snow, well, snowing down.

It only adds more to Schlatt’s frustration. “Notch damn it,” he mutters, leaning against a tree. The words are accompanied by a white mist that also makes him crave a quick smoke, which just means more frustration since he doesn’t have shit on him at the moment and fuck this.

Fuck. This.

He’s getting the best bottle of liquor and cigar Dream has to offer after this, Schlatt decides, focusing back on the group.

Eventually, after Notch knows how long and Schlatt feeling like he has dozed off at least twice, the group separates: Dream and his team turn and walk toward his direction while behind them, the L’Manberg people (L’Manbergians?) walk back to their weird yellow and black wall. 

Schlatt supposes the wall is more symbolic than anything, a clear division between L’Manberg and Dream SMP. Far as he knows the mobs are already being kept out by Dream’s own border, so it isn’t like the people have to worry about mobs somehow getting in.

“So?” Schlatt asks when Dream is close enough, his two friends chatting between themselves behind him. “How did it go bois?”

Dream tosses him the large scroll of the terms that he has slaved over the last few nights writing and rewriting. Schlatt catches it easily enough, eyes quickly darting to the bottom to see new signatures from both sides. 

Dream’s signature is shaky, worse than the handwriting on the letter even.

“Congrats on their new independence, I suppose,” Schlatt chuckles.

“Congrats,” Dream echoes mockingly. Or perhaps bitterly, not that Schlatt would voice that aloud. “We’re done here, let’s go.”

* * *

The Newly Established Country Of L’Manberg, May 12nd, 2020

Schlatt approaches L’Manberg when the snow has melted away and nature’s thriving again. The sky is not so cloudy all the time anymore, and the biting coldness has been replaced with more than welcome warmer weather. Flowers are blooming, the trees aren’t bare of leaves, and L’Manberg is establishing itself.

Schlatt has to give it to the people: Over a month and the place hasn’t gone down in fire and smoke, that’s a rather fucking impressive feat. Like, that alone deserves a standing ovation.

“Welcome to L’Manberg,” the guard at the entrance of the wall tells him, handing back the paperwork, and Schlatt politely nods back, putting it back into his briefcase before walking into the country.

Happiness greets him. Like actual genuine happiness, a rare sight around the commoners of the Dream SMP. But then again, Schlatt reminds himself, this isn’t Dream SMP anymore.

No, this is L’Manberg now. And here, children are running along the ruined street, people are chatting and laughing, probably still high from their newly acquired freedom. Around him are smaller houses and buildings, giving it a homey vibe that clashes horribly with his black suit and red tie.

Good for them, Schlatt thinks, meaning it for once.

As inviting and comforting as the vibe is here though, he’s not here to dally around and to enjoy the scenery. This is more of a scouting mission, both on the enemy and a spot for his new address, considering he will be needing to stick around if he wants to run for president. 

Schlatt has to admit, he will be missing the short commute from the company back to his penthouse.

But hey, new beginning or whatever! With that in mind, he picks a random direction and gets onto exploring.

His steps bring him to an open market, stalls upon stalls up and running. It’s good that there is some business going on around here at least, Schlatt muses, slowly walking through the crowd, checking the shit they have on sale.

Of course it’s nothing too special, some food and some resources here and there, but it is promising. There’s a nice looking bakery that he makes a note to drop by if he gets hungry, and further on there’s even a blacksmith up ahead. Whoever runs that must have gotten some good profit from the war as well, Schlatt reckons.

The heart of the market seems to be a long notice board, standing in an intersection. Advertisements of all kinds are pinned there, coupled with some event notices, some posters and oh, bingo! 

In the midst of the boring shit, Schlatt’s eyes focus on the lone presidential campaign ad.

POG2020, it reads. Vote for the Wilbur-Tommy party. Below the simple words is a date, and Schlatt mentally notes down September 21st...which would give him 4 months or something to campaign. More than enough, probably. He has never run for president before, but he has seen Dream rise to power and he has more than enough experience with managing a multi corporation company so it should be fine.

Probably.

Fuck it, he’s just going to wing it and learn along the way. It’s how he has been doing life anyway, and look at where he is now.

Schlatt focuses back on the board, scanning for any more information. Around the voting poster are even smaller ads, mostly from traders and sellers, and some more are even asking for volunteers to build the new road for the country.

Volunteers, fucking Notch.

This is an absolute fucking mess. Next thing he will find out they don’t even have any budget, which now that he’s thinking about it, oh no.

Oh fucking no. You hate to see it.

Schlatt sighs, tearing his eyes away from the rather pathetic notice board. He knows enough about the economic state of the land at the very least, and that’s as good of a starting point as any.

“Um, excuse me?” He glances over to see a kid, brown hair in a green shirt, hugging a stack of papers close to his chest and staring up at him. “Would you mind-”

“Ah, right,” Schlatt cuts in quickly, stepping to the side. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine sir, thank you!”

He watches as the kid puts some papers he has on the board, probably more ads for some weird shit the place is selling. And really, Schlatt was expecting fucking flowers or something at a horrible price that surely no one would actually buy, but no. Instead the kid pins an exact replica of the POG2020 party poster on the board, and Schlatt’s eyes narrow.

Interesting. Is this someone who’s in the campaign with Wilbur, or is this just a hired hand?

Well, the kid looks to be at most 13. And Schlatt is by no way claiming any moral highground here, but at least his child labour isn’t being done in the open, you know?

“You, uh,” Schlatt starts, and the kid turns to look at him. “You're part of POG2020?”

“Oh! Yeah yeah, I am! Name’s Tubbo, good to meet you.” The kid, Tubbo, smiles and offers him a hand. Schlatt takes it, giving a classic up-down-up shake before letting go, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping at his palm. 

Tubbo doesn’t seem bothered by the gesture. If anything, he goes on, “Are you new around here? I haven’t seen you around before.”

“I am, yes,” Schlatt shrugs. “Heard some news about a new country and I figured, might as well drop by while I’m in the area.”

Tubbo giggles. “Yeah, a new country,” he echoes. “It is nice, isn’t it?”

“Sure feels like it,” Schlatt lies. “You’ve been here for long?”

“For as long as I can remember.”

“Fair enough. So you were under Dream for a while then, weren’t you?”

Tubbo straightens up ever so. Schlatt can’t blame the kid. “Uh, yeah. We were under Dream’s rule for forever… But then the revolution happened, so we’re fine now!”

“Vive la révolution.”

“Viv- what?”

Schlatt chuckles. “Don’t worry too much about it, kid.”

There’s some mumbling that Schlatt can guess goes along the line of not a kid, which is such a fucking kid thing to say anyway. Ugh, he hates kids.

He’s about to ask Tubbo a few more questions when a new voice, a familiar voice rings out. “Schlatt, is that you?”

“W-Wilbur?” Tubbo stutters, but Schlatt has already tuned him out in favour of focusing on Wilbur Soot, in the flesh and his L’Manberg uniform on with the familiar beanie in place.

Besides the change in clothing, Wilbur basically looks identical to how Schlatt has been remembering him: Bright eyes and a bright smile, messy brown hair, high-spirit. The only thing that’s missing is the guitar.

“Yeah, who’s asking?” Schlatt replies with a raised eyebrow, and Wilbur laughs aloud before pulling him into a hug. He pats gently at Wilbur’s back. “Hey Soot.”

“Soot this and that, do you only know my last name?” Wilbur sighs into his shoulder before letting him go, thanks Notch. “It’s been a while. How’re you doing, man?”

“Good, good. Business has been going. But I damn well know you could not give two fucks about that though, sooo,” Schlatt grins, waving his hand vaguely around. “What is all this then? A new country?”

“Oh, you’ve heard?”

“Bits and pieces from here and there. Some from your friend over here.”

Tubbo, upon being mentioned, rushes over to Wilbur’s side. Wilbur only laughs, pulling Tubbo closer with his hand around his shoulder. “Of course, of course. So what, you figure you would drop by to spy more on us?”

Schlatt chuckles. Beside Wilbur, Tubbo awkwardly copies the sound. “You know me.”

“And? You like what you’re seeing?”

“It’s decent,” Schlatt replies, a tad more truthful. “It has potential. I’m here on some business to improve the place, actually. But perhaps now is a bit too soon.”

“Too soon?”

“You know, for some proper developments. There isn’t even a president for me to talk shop with yet.”

“I’m acting president right now,” Wilbur pushes on. “What offer do you have, Schlatt?”

He regards Wilbur for a moment, before looking away. “No, no. That’s not fair to anyone else running against you.” Schlatt pauses. “You do have another party running against you, right? Or is this another one-party autocracy situation again?”

“No, no it’s not. There’s SWAG2020 and another unconfirmed third party. We’re just campaigning early.”

He makes another note to look into that. “I’m sure.”

Wilbur nods with a bright smile. “Still, business or not, it’s good to see you again. Been a while, right dude?”

“It has, yeah,” Schlatt shrugs. “Mind giving me a tour around when you’re free? I think I’ll be, uh, sticking around here for a while.”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

Wilbur whoops in joy, and for a moment Schlatt feels sad that he’s going to take that happiness away when September comes. They were good friends once upon a time, still are he supposes.

In the end, the feeling is fleeting. Business has no place for annoying personal feelings after all.

* * *

The Still-In-Shambles L’Manberg, June 6th, 2020

Schlatt’s new house is a two story wooden cabin, taking up a nice spot near the water. It’s not what he was intending to have built, but on second thought, constructing a new complex from concrete and quartz isn’t quite the ideal plan. So he settles for the cabin, making sure that it matches up to the other houses in L’Manberg.

In the end it works out quite well, actually. It fits in perfectly, from the large variety of woods giving the structure more texture to the lawn that surrounds the house itself, neatly cut down and maintained. It’s all about the lawn, honestly. Berry bushes line the outside, and he even has a PO box up and running.

Domesticity is the name of the game and Schlatt is winning. As long as you’re not looking inside, where papers and files cover most surfaces and the cabinets are lined with alcohol. 

It’s worse upstairs now that he has installed the needed equipment to work from home. His working station takes up most of the space, the main thing being a complex radio system that has been built and double-checked over to make sure it’s functional over the past few days. And of course, his overused coffee machine is there.

Work still has to keep going, after all. Just because he’s planning on running for president doesn’t mean he’s abandoning Schlatt Corp.

The main working space takes up two rooms in total, forcing Schlatt to change some of the planning from the beginning. Sadly the bedroom is no longer the biggest room, but at least the king sized bed still fits in.

_ Ding ding ding- _

“FUCK OFF!”

Despite his yelling, the alarm clock doesn’t fucking stop, to no one’s surprise. Schlatt groans, poking his arm out from under the blanket, blindly searching around until he feels the general shape of the clock on the bedside table.

There’s a loud crash as he hurls it towards the wall, but after that the annoying ding ding fucking ding stops so it’s a win in the end. 

“Fucking take that you piece of shit,” Schlatt mutters, his voice muffled ever so slightly by the pillow. He shifts, being mindful of the horns before settling down again. “Fucking alarm clock, thinking it can tell me what to do and when to wake up. Suck my fucking ding dong, bitch.”

Ha, he roasted it good.

Schlatt doesn’t know how long he has continued to sleep in for, but the next time he wakes up it’s to the sound of someone knocking on the door. And unlike the alarm clock, he can’t fucking kill the source to get rid of the sound...at least not legally, so-

“Fuck.”

Getting up and quickly shrugging on a white button up shirt that he randomly grabs from the closet, Schlatt makes his way down. The knocking only gets louder as he approaches the door to no one’s fucking surprise, but at least he’s awake enough to not be that annoyed by it anymore.

“I’M FUCKING COMING!”

Actually yeah, take that last statement back. At least the sound stops.

Schlatt wrenches the door open with probably much more force than necessary, and bright orange fur greets him.

Orange fur, oranger fur- Ah right, Fundy, the only fox hybrid in this town.

“Oh,” Fundy says. “Are you busy?”

He squints down at him, wondering why the fuck he is standing here right now. They are kind of friends, sure, but at least whenever Fundy wants to drop by he usually drops a fucking message or something first instead of bothering him at probably too early in the morning.

“Depends,” Schlatt slowly says. “What’s the date today?”

“June 6th?”

“No, well, yeah, thank you. But like the um, the day of the week.”

Fundy seems to be making himself smaller, his ears flattening back against his head and his tail curling alongside his body. “Saturday?”

Schlatt racks his brain, before remembering the last conversation they had and oh. Oh yeah, that explains why Fundy is here then. God, he really needs to keep track of the date more now that his secretary isn’t here to do that for him. “Right, uh, come in and gimme a bit to get ready. And then we can go and do the things that you, uh, we were planning to do.”

“The speech practice,” Fundy says. Oh yeah, he is clutching a piece of paper tight in his grip, and Schlatt rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, that.” Schlatt turns on his heel, walking back in. Behind him he hears the door click shut, and then Fundy’s footsteps match his. “Want something to drink?”

“I- I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself. More coffee for me.”

He leaves Fundy alone in the living room as he drags his ass to the other coffee machine in the kitchen, getting started on making at least 2 liters of the stuff. The main question here is if he wants to throw some brandy in the mix as well.

On one hand, it’s a Saturday (apparently). On the other hand, he has a guest sitting there, waiting for him. A guest that he really needs to get on his side, for many reasons but mainly the fact that he’s Wilbur’s kid.

Schlatt chuckles.

Nah, as if he would stoop that low… Well, he would, but it’s more about Fundy being a rather influential figure, even if he doesn’t think so highly of himself. The Wilbur thing is merely a nice bonus on the side, the little cherry on his sundae, that extra tax percentage that he doesn’t have to pay.

When he re-emerges with a cup of part coffee, part rum, and a cup of still water because he’s nice like that, Fundy has made himself comfortable on the sofa. At the very least he doesn’t look so tense anymore.

Schlatt puts down the cup in front of Fundy, nodding at the small thank you before taking his own seat. The beverage is still hot, scalding his tongue as he takes a sip of the thing, relaxing him in just all the right ways even if the taste of rum is absolutely fucking ruined by the temperature. 

Whatever.

He lets out a content sigh, putting the cup down on the table and leaning back on the chair with his legs crossed. Fundy follows his every movement without an ounce of subtlety, another thing Schlatt will need to teach him about at some point.

Not today though. Today is for Fundy’s presidential campaign that he has promised to help with. It’s kinda ironic that he’s running against Wilbur, but all the more better for Schlatt really.

“So,” he hums, starting the conversation when it’s clear that Fundy will not take the initiative. “How are you today, Fundy?”

“I have been doing good, Schlatt. You?”

“Fine, fine. And how’s your running mate?”

Fundy perks up. “Oh, Niki has been great! Have you tried her new cake?”

“We can go after this, if you want,” Schlatt offers with a smile. “But before that, you said you wanted to…”

“Oh- Right. To practice my speech for the upcoming debate,” Fundy sighs, finishing the sentence and diverting his gaze to anywhere that is not Schlatt. His right ear flickers up and down, a nervous tick that Schlatt is more than well accustomed to at this point after a month of being friends.

Ugh, friends. Mental typo, not enough coffee does that to a man.

“Well, shall we hear it then?” Schlatt prompts. “Come on, let’s give it up for the future president Fundy!” 

Fundy awkwardly chuckles, but he does stand up from his seat. His stance is horrible, of course, he might as well be dancing in one place with how much he’s bouncing around. “You have too much faith in me.”

“I don’t like to think so. Now come on, less procrastinating, more speaking.”

Fundy lets out a high embarrassed squeak. He clears his throat, before finally getting started. He is still tripping over some words here and there but Schlatt has to admit, it is not too bad. The small saving grace is that at least it gets better as Fundy goes on, like the confidence is flowing back through him, little by little.

Now if only the contents were a bit better.

“I, together with Niki, have an in-depth understanding on trades and goods, and that coupled with Niki’s experience-” Schlatt yawns, and Fundy pauses. “Oh, is that too boring?”

“No, no,” he shrugs, picking up the cup again. The drink has gone down to room temp by now, and Schlatt takes another sip before continuing, “Just, yeah, you and Niki have that, but how will it affect the people? How will it affect L’Manberg?”

“Well, the trade will go up, right?” Fundy stammers out, but if anything it reads more like a question. Schlatt raises an eyebrow.

“And?”

“And we’re planning on giving the people goods and we definitely have a plan for agriculture advancement to actually get everything up and running and-”

“Cool, add that to your speech. But make it shorter, and you know, more concise. Less repetitive too. Tell me when you’re done.”

Fundy nods quickly, taking a seat again and pulling out a pen. Schlatt’s content to let him work on it, merely reaching out and grabbing a folder on the table, checking the date and its relevancy to the company before flipping through that too.

The sound of pencil scratching against the paper is calming in some way, he thinks. It reminds Schlatt of the offices back in the main building, and it’s easier that way to focus on the statistics again.

The lack of war, sadly, has brought the Dream SMP’s profit down. It’s still at a respectable level of course, L’Manberg isn’t the only battlefield, but Schlatt will miss the extra 19%. Other than that, Schlatt Corp is still going strong, nothing too out of the ordinary. Their shares are still traded at a 20 diamond rate and only showing signs of rising markedly. The board also hasn’t tried to pull any shit just yet, though Schlatt will definitely have to do something to remind them of their position again. Familiarity breeds contempt, after all.

All in all though, life’s good. He throws the file back on the table, focusing back on Fundy again.

He is still working diligently on his presidency plan and policies, and Schlatt should probably get started on his own too. And he should probably announce to the people that he is running at some point.

Schlatt mentally adds that to his to-do list. He should still be free tomorrow to actually go and register the party, giving him 3 more days before the first presidential debate to make sense of his mess of a first draft of some policies Schlatt has in mind. Taxation is an obvious point to focus on. Education and healthcare, maybe a welfare state to really get both the influentials and essentials to his side.

“Ok, I think this is better now,” Fundy says aloud, breaking his concentration. “Do you mind taking a look at it?”

The question is asked in a rushed voice, and with the way Fundy’s looking at him, Schlatt can easily guess why it is like that. He holds his hand out, doesn’t miss the way Fundy brightens up and gets reading.

* * *

The Watching L’Manberg, June 10th, 2020

The presidential debate is held at a large wooden podium, apparently designed by the kid he met his first day here, Tubbo or something along the line. Yeah, Tubbo sounds about right. And it is a good design, Schlatt has to admit.

Everything looks official enough with the waterfall, the glasses, the nice landscape around. It is situated nicely in front of the still in-construction White House, so that’s a lot of extra points. The podium faces rows upon rows of chairs, all occupied by the growing number of people that have been taking up residency here instead of going back to the Dream SMP. 

The chatting between them quiets down when the moderator, Jack Manifold, Schlatt’s mind supplies, walks up to the podium, tapping slightly on the microphone. The sound rings out from the larger speakers around the field, and are probably also ringing out from radios or any other devices people are using to tune in.

Schlatt, on the other hand, tunes out the opening words, focusing on the candidates around him instead. There are 4 others standing in the back wing, waiting, and he can’t help straying his eyes to Wilbur first.

Tommy, whoever that may be, is not with Wilbur today. Come to think of it, he hasn’t seen Wilbur’s running mate around much, and most information he has are words of mouth from the people here about Tommy the right hand man, Tommy who played an integral part in the war, so on and so forth.

Injuries, perhaps. War’s brutal like that, and respawn itself has its flaws. Flaws that Schlatt Corp is trying its best to fix, one small step at a time.

Still, Schlatt looks forward to matching the name to a face, wanting to see if his imagination of the man matches up with real life. For some reason he can see this Tommy as taller than Wilbur, making the whole right hand man deal a much funnier mental image in his head.

Anyway, all of that leaves Wilbur the only one from POG2020. He is just standing there, dressed in the revolution uniform though without the stupid as fuck hat, watching the crowd with his brows furrowed. The age old habit of gnawing on his bottom lip has also not gone away, Schlatt notes.

POG2020, though.

He has no doubt the party has a big advantage over all of them in terms of reputation. He knows Wilbur is banking on winning the popular vote.

Schlatt holds back a chuckle at the thought. We’ll see, he supposes, moving onto Quackity, whose running mate is also absent.

George (and what a surprise it was when he found out George is running) is nowhere to be found. A quick word with him before this revealed that Dream has sent him here to help, and Quackity is more than happy to form a party with him, considering his outspoken opinion on opening L’Manberg up even more, a policy that Schlatt can get behind alright.

Right now Quackity is leaning against one of the wooden supports of the podium, staring at Jack. The beanie he always has on hides most of his black hair, and the suit of the same colour is pristine. Though the blue tie looks a bit dirtied if Schlatt does say so himself.

Ugh, rookie. Imagine wearing a horrible tie, could not be him.

He rolls his eyes, moving on to where Fundy and Niki are standing. Fundy catches his eyes, and he gives Schlatt a shy smile with a small wave. Beside him Niki offers a polite nod when she notices his gaze.

Schlatt nods back, giving them a small smile of his own.

Coconut 2020 is the party he’s the most familiar with. The people though, not so much, but he couldn’t blame those two for it. They have good ideas, but everything on the advertising side is a bit lacking.

It is a good first run, don’t get him wrong. If he wasn’t here, Schlatt’s sure that Coconut 2020 would have a decent chance, but considering himself and then Wilbur...Yeah, that’s not going to happen. He’ll be sure to congratulate Fundy and Niki on the good attempt though, or maybe even save a seat in the cabinet for them if, no-

When he wins.

Schlatt2020 has not been holding back, and Schlatt’s certain that his efforts have not gone to waste. A month of market researching and writing up policies, and then three days of full on campaigning has left him drained, but it has paid off.

Schlatt peers down from behind the curtains, and oh yes, it definitely has paid off. He spots banners, hats and shirts with his design on them taking up a good percentage of the crowd, and he smirks.

Everything is moving on rather nicely after all.

“The audience, I repeat, should remain silent throughout until the end. That means no cheers, boos, or other distractions so we may concentrate on the candidates.” 

The backstage team gives him the signal, and Schlatt nods. He adjusts the red tie one last time, taking a deep breath and putting on a smile.

Outside, Jack’s voice rises in volume, continuing, “...Except right now, as we welcome to the stage! Acting president Wilbur Soot, leader of the POG2020 party; Governor Alexis Quackity, leader of the SWAG2020 party; Candidate Fundy Soot and his running mate Niki Nihachu of the Coconut 2020 party; and CEO of Schlatt Corporation, Jebediah Schlatt, leader of the aptly named Schlatt 2020!”

The thunderous applause distracts Schlatt well enough from the use of his first name as he and the others walk out in the calling order. He waves at the crowd, and his grin melts into something more genuine as he bathes in the attention. Eyes are on him, on all of them and he feels at home despite how restrictive his actions are now.

There are four other mics surrounding Jack, and Schlatt stands on the furthest one left, Fundy and Niki next to him. Wilbur meanwhile takes on the furthest right, Quackity claiming the last spot.

The crowd calms down at Jack’s signal, and there’s a split second of pure and utter silence before he speaks up again, “Now, while this is advertised as a presidential debate, we’re moving that back considering a rather unexpected addition to the candidate pool. So instead, this is going to be a brief rundown of the available choices so as to inform you of your available choices and to make sure that you can make a decision wisely.”

Schlatt ignores the look some people must have been directing at him right now, merely staring straight ahead.

“And again, I would like to stress, this is an important point in the history of this new country, the first election of our liberated L’Manberg. You, the citizen, now have the liberty of deliberation,” Jack chuckles. “Now, I won’t keep you waiting for much longer. We’ll go down the list, starting from the right. Mr. Soot, if you will?”

If it wasn’t for the no cheering rule, Schlatt could imagine most of the people here on their feet, clapping. The lack of chaos at least lets him take a better look at the crowd, spotting people with papers and quills out gathering in the first few rolls, ready to write.

Vultures, the lot of them. He has never liked reporters, not after he has been harassed by the bastards over every single new update the company has made to the respawn system. Fuck, Schlatt will never forget that time they painted the system to be increasing the chance of creating a hybrid.

Now is not the time to reminisce though. Schlatt blinks, focusing back on reality and on Wilbur as he starts.

“Of course.” Wilbur clears his throat, getting straight to the point. “Two years ago I promised you toil, tears and sweat, and your untiring response brought us in the end victory over the Dream SMP and its leader, Dream himself. Today we still have tears. Not so many, thank Notch, but L’Manberg is only a start. There are other colonies still fighting for their own independence, and that right there is unfinished business. These are the problems we must, and will, see through to the end.”

Schlatt stops himself from rolling his eyes, if only because there are, again, reporters here. Why is he even surprised that this is Wilbur’s speech?

“And we must still look forward, alas, to blood and sweat. We have a terrific task ahead of us, we have a shattered world around us and we must help to rebuild it. We must strive for a sane and just peace which will save us all, and our children, from the constant fear of war,” Wilbur pauses, taking a look around the crowd. “I had stood here, on this land, from the beginning with the promise of freedom for all. And that promise is still unfulfilled.” 

Oh my Notch, fuck this. 

If this was a debate as it originally was going to be, he would tear into Wilbur so hard. Schlatt glances at Fundy and Niki, seeing a frown playing on both of their faces, and when he looks at Quackity, he sees downright annoyance despite the sunglasses blocking his eyes.

None of them are very good at keeping a straight face. Also who the fuck wears shades at night anyway?

“That is why I am asking today for the support of all men and women of goodwill. During the war I rested my trust in the people of L’Manberg. Time after time I warned them of the dangers ahead and they never failed,” Wilbur spreads his hands out dramatically. “Once again, now, today, I must tell you that in spite of all our victories a rough road lies ahead.”

The sound of furious transcribing reaches his ears when Schlatt pays a little less attention to Wilbur’s speech. He knew the press would have a field day with this already, but this really is a proper feast. And they’re only starting.

Wilbur leans forward every so slightly, looking down at the crown. “For the sake of the country and of your own happiness I call upon you to march with me under the banner of freedom towards the beacon lights of national prosperity and honour which must ever be our guide. Thank you.”

There’s a pregnant pause, before Jack nods. “Thank you, Mr. Soot, for the speech. His party, again, is POG2020 and while his running mate isn’t here, I’m sure Tommy Innit is cheering along.”

Wilbur smiles with pride. “He certainly is.”

“That’s great to know,” Jack replies, before turning to look at Quackity. “Now, shall we hear from SWAG2020?”

Quackity perks up then, putting on a wide smile. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of, in Schlatt’s opinion, gaudy sunglasses that catch the bright light.

“We, both the people who support our party and my own people, are fighting for a new L’Manberg, where the Nation's resources are used to satisfy the people's needs. No one man rules alone, and the people are our utmost priority,” Quackity stresses, his voice getting louder as he goes on. “I’m fighting for a Government that provides security from war, and at the same time, builds homes for the people, gives justice and equal gratuities to demobilised servicemen, that expands production in industry and agriculture, resulting in full employment, good, wages, working conditions and social security.”

Oh. Now that’s someone he can, not get behind per se, but that’s at least miles better than what Wilbur was saying. 

Perhaps he will have to set up a meeting with Quackity later. Schlatt notes that down on his mental to-do list, already planning some vague ideas on how it will go.

“To this end SWAG2020 demands the nationalisation of the land key industries, finance and planned production in peace as in war. And I, and I’m sure everyone else here, are looking forward to a happier L’Manberg," Quackity inches his head. “Vote SWAG2020, thank you.”

Quackity’s shoulders visibly drop at the last word, a clear signal that he has finished his speech, most likely from the fact that some stress has faded away. Schlatt can’t think it’s from the fact that he’s disappointed in his speech, not when it was rather good.

“Thank you, Mr. Quackity,” Jack speaks up after a beat of silence. “That was, once again, SWAG2020. Next up on the list, we have Coconut 2020, with candidate Fundy Soot and his running mate Niki Nihachu.”

Schlatt doesn’t miss the way Fundy tenses up when his name is called. His eyes flicker from Wilbur to the press and then, interestingly enough, to Schlatt himself before Fundy draws a deep breath, moving closer to the mic. Niki seems more than fine with stepping back right now, letting Fundy handle the talk himself.

Something tells him that Fundy will do well, if not better than what Wilbur had said. Not that it’s that high of a bar to cross, of course, but it is an achievement all the same.

“Thank you very much, Jack, for the opportunity. I also want to thank the people of L’Manberg for coming here, the organiser of the event and anyone else who may have taken part in putting this together,” Fundy starts, and Schlatt lets a small smile grace his lips.

Proud is not the word he’s looking for, but it is close.

“While I agree with acting president Soot on the fact that we have a shattered world around us and that we must help to rebuild it, I want to focus more on our country first and foremost.”

Oh no, nevermind, proud is definitely the word Schlatt’s looking for. He can’t help but look at Wilbur, taking in the shock and surprise, relishing in it for however long he can before focusing back on Fundy again. 

“For Niki and I, our trade and industry must be restored to a sound peacetime footing so as to ensure steady employment for all. Coconut 2020 strives to give everybody greater security against poverty, unemployment, sickness and old age.” Fundy pauses, glancing back at Niki for a moment. There’s a conversation there, Schlatt notes, a quick and silent one that lasts for a split second before Fundy turns back.

“Above all, we must tackle the housing problem with the same drive which we put into our war effort. Up till now nearly all the builders have been in the war, up till now those at home have been mainly absorbed in TNT repairs, but we are making good headway and everything in human power will be done. Here, I must also thank the many volunteers who have helped with the repairs, and to promise that winning or no, Coconut 2020 will try our best to compensate for your efforts.”

He’s taking back anything he has ever said about Coconut 2020. Holy fuck, holy fucking shit. Schlatt doesn’t think he has ever told Fundy about ways to manipulate the votes, but here he is, appeasing specific voting blocks this early and quickly in the race. 

Damn.

“It is only by hard work, enterprise, energy and teamwork that we can win. And these changes can only happen once you’ve voted for Coconut 2020, so I implore you to make the right choice.” Fundy’s tail is thrashing behind him as he says the ending that Schlatt has helped with in the writing. “Thank you.”

Schlatt hums. Then he claps, making sure the sound isn’t picked up by the microphone, so in the end it’s less of a clap and more of his hands forming the motion but never quite touching. But it gets the message across, and Fundy’s staring at him with something close to gratitude and amazement.

“Thank you, Coconut 2020.” Jack doesn’t mention the not-clapping, which far as Schlatt knows means he’s not crossing any line. Not that it would matter, the reward obviously outweighs the risk if he even did that in the first place, but it’s nice that it worked out.

“Of course. And again, thank you Jack.”

Jack chuckles, before he clears his throat and continues, “And last but not least, we have Schlatt 2020. Mr. Schlatt, if you will?”

The focus is now solely on him as opposed to being split four ways when they walked out from the backstage. Schlatt wonders if he’s imagining the inhuman eyes of Dream also watching.

“I, of course, want to echo Mr. Fundy Soot’s opening statement. My gratitude to everyone who is involved in the organising, and in general the citizens of L’Manberg at large. Not just for being here, but also for being so friendly and welcoming,” he starts leisurely, aiming a smile at the general audience. “Many of you may not know me, considering the fact that I’ve only moved here for over a month, but nevertheless, the kindness you’ve shown has been an eye opening experience. And standing here, I want to show the same kindness back to the country and its people, to you.”

He can see some people shifting in the audience. He can see quills scratching against papers, and while it’s not in sight, he can imagine the radio operators tapping away at an inhuman speed.

“Two years of war inflicted great damage on this country. Valuable lives, while not lost thanks to respawn itself and Schlatt Corp’s technology, have still been through what no one should. Much wealth was destroyed. The trade was disrupted. Clearly there will be hardships and shortages of many things to be endured. To achieve recovery we require a great effort on the part of all the men and women of L’Manberg.”

Schlatt pauses. What he wants to say has already been said, partly by Quackity, partly by Fundy. Only partly of course, he doesn’t just have one ace up his sleeves.

“But as I said, this also means the government will also try its best to help you back. I know a very fine effort has been made. Production in industry and agriculture has been greatly increased and the opportunity of working has been afforded but Schlatt 2020 wants to bring it all to a new level.” He leans forward, putting as much gravity as he can in his words. “Right here, Schlatt 2020 promises government-supported full employment, as well as a free National Health Service, as well as the nationalisation of key industries: mineral, technology, road transport, and so on.”

He scans the crowd again. “Right now, my promise means little to you. After all, I’m only the founder and CEO of Schlatt Corporation, and my years of experience come mainly from running the company. Which means that I can’t, of course, help but notice the lack of any official system. Many of you still run the risk of respawning in the capital of the Dream SMP if something were to happen. Thus, my first act not as a candidate, but as a supporter of the new country and if the acting president would allow, is to set up a central system here.”

Schlatt glances at Wilbur from the corner of his eyes. 

He’s staring at Schlatt with wide eyes, and Schlatt expects a yes from the acting president. It will have to be, especially after such a public announcement that’s clearly for the good of the people.

“I also ask you to help Schlatt 2020 to continue the work of a recovery so well begun,” he continues. “Thank you and Notch bless L’Manberg.”

Even Jack can’t help but look surprised at his speech, and Schlatt hides a smirk. He gets his bearings back quickly, the professional mask sliding back in place easily as he turns to the mic. “You’ve heard it from Schlatt 2020, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you, Mr. Schlatt.”

“Believe me, it’s my pleasure.” Schlatt dips his head lightly, taking a step back.

“Of course,” Jack smiles. “For now, allow me to claim your attention now that all four of our candidates have had their chance to express themselves to the public. I would, again, like to stress that the vote that you will be giving on September 21st is of profound importance to your future, your homes and families and to our country. More information about the voting process will be published as we continue on, onto a new future of L’Manberg.”

Jack looks at all the candidates one by one, making eye contact before he turns to the audience again. “With that, we’re coming to the end of this event. Thank you to the candidate, to everyone for participating, and remember! The opinions expressed here do not necessarily represent the views of the organisers, and please vote when the time comes. Good night, L’Manberg.”

Now there’s applause and clapping, and Schlatt smiles at the crowd one last time, waving before following his fellow candidates backstage as the curtains close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I watch as the people who bookmarked and subcribed to this fic scutter away because of the unexpected dose of politics. Haha, jk- I mean, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and have a good day :D
> 
> Extra credit for anyone who can name the election that I ~~basically plagiarised~~ took inspo from.
> 
> (Where's Tommy?)

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I hope you enjoyed this! Kudos/Comments are always appreciated if you've made it here, but dw too much, you reading and liking this is enough joy for both of us :DDD


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